Day 60

When I was in first grade there were two African-American girls in my class. One was named Joakima and the other was named Michelle. One day, being a first grader who did not know any better, I made the casual comment that Michelle and Joakima were both black, but Joakima was blacker than Michelle. To my utter astonishment, Joakima broke into tears and ran to tell the teacher, who gave me a very thorough scolding on the matter. I was surprised and embarrassed and I still had no idea what I had done wrong.

This incident was probably my first conscious experience with race relations. I lived in middle-class Frederick, Maryland at the time. I knew black people, but not very many. I really did not think of them any differently; some people were black, some people were white, some people were short, some people were tall, and we all had different hair and eye colors. This didn’t seem like that big of a deal. (In fact, now that I am thinking about this incident, it occurs to me that I may have received similar flack one time for pointing out another seemingly mundane detail about the world: there are more white people than black people, but there are a lot of black people in Washington, D.C.) I knew about slavery and the Civil war; living on the Eastern Seaboard I had been to several battlefields. I had probably heard of Martin Luther King and had a vague knowledge of the Civil Rights Movement. But it had never crossed my mind that racism (or whatever my six-year-old mind would have called the concept of racism) still existed. And it certainly had never crossed my mind that Joakima, a fairly friendly acquaintance of mine, would get so bent out of shape because I simply pointed out the shade of her skin.

Of course, today I can see why Joakima reacted the way she did. I attended a discussion last year on racism in the public school system and Alex Kotlowitz, author of There are No Children Here, commented that black kids in the city deal with the effects of racism on a daily basis, while white kids in the suburbs think racism is something that ended in the ‘60s. This is more or less true. I could not have been held responsible for my comment to Joakima because I had no idea that I said anything wrong. I did not realize how much African-Americans were discriminated against and I certainly had no idea of the stereotypes that accompany darker and lighter skin-tones. Joakima, meanwhile, was probably all too aware of these things, even at her young age, and even living in our fairly tolerant town. I had never seen any of the white kids tease her for being black, but it must have weighed on her mind constantly to be in such a minority. Furthermore, outside of the classroom, living in a predominantly white (and somewhat rural) community, her family surely faced their share of racism, be it malicious or subtle or, such as in my case, naïve. And judging by her reaction, even at her young age she was familiar with the stereotypes of skin-tone.

I was six-years-old at the time so her reaction and my naivety do not haunt me. This was simply the first in a long line of lessons I have learned on race relations in our country. What does still bother me a little is the reaction of my teacher. I had a class last quarter where we were instructed to think of a negative moment, involving a teacher that stood out in our minds. This was not the story I related, but it could have been.

My teacher’s reaction was to simply give me a stern scolding. I also remember that there was another teacher present at the time and she also put in her two cents. There was no explanation of why my comment could have been misconstrued as offensive. Instead they simply yelled at me and left me confused.

Setting aside the shoddy teaching strategy in place here, I think that the teacher’s reaction is indicative of the way many in our country deal with race relations. There is rarely an effort made to open a real dialogue on racial issues. The only time the media really addresses race is when a public figure lets an ignorant or malicious comment slide. When this happens we simply vilify this person, or sweep it under the rug as a relic of a past age of racism. The discussion centers on a word instead of the attitudes and emotions behind it. If we hope to truly confront the racial divide in America we have to be willing to confront the subject on a deeper level, no matter how uncomfortable it may make us feel.

And that’s all I have to say about that.